


Pretty Like A Knife

by Anonymous



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Books, Bruises, Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Cunnilingus, Edgeplay, F/M, Hair-pulling, Ice Play, Library Sex, Love Bites, Love Confessions, Marking, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Semi-Public Sex, Temperature Play, tagging kinks for filtering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26735479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Lessons in discipline and just what it is Nate Sewell adores about ice.[Chapter 1: semi-public sex with an edging element in the libraryChapter 2: ice/temperature play with an emphasis on oral]
Relationships: Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

The verses had been forgotten. Nate was gasping, abandoned book dangling from one hand, his thighs sliding over the velvet chaise as he moved his legs, allowing her to slip her knee between them, leverage for Serena to rely upon as she leaned over him. 

“Keep going,” she murmured, looking down at the vampire, gaze heavy-lidded, teeth grazing her bottom lip before she spoke again. “I want to hear how it ends.”

He looked lewdly pretty like that, wickedly lovely, his swollen red mouth parted slightly as he panted, eyes closed for longer and longer intervals, lashes brushing his cheeks, dark head hanging back. His tan skin glittered with the remains of her open-mouthed kisses and the slick of the arousal he had drank from her and run his tongue through with a thirst befitting an immortal. When she cupped his cheeks between both of her palms, leaving her own skin damp with the come and saliva that painted his face, he was hot to the touch, flushed beneath her.

Serena liked him this way, stripped of the hubris that he had accumulated over centuries, charming Agent Sewell at her mercy. She liked being on _top_ : his face between her legs, his body beneath hers as she rode him on the edge of an overstuffed high-back chair, drawing her fingers through the hair he had started growing longer because she once told him she liked it better that way, making him look at her.

Raw desire, lust, had a trace of a scent to it, like honey, and Nate was always dripping in it. 

She knew that when he glanced at her in that hungry way he did, deep voice with an untraceable accent hoarse as he took her by the wrists and pulled her closer to him, hiking up her skirt and wrapping an arm around her waist as he fucked up into her and made the shelves rattle, he would do whatever she asked of him. 

He watched her trace down his arms with her fingertips, the crisp fabric of the laundered, collared shirts he wore beneath his woolly sweaters and soft Fair Isle knits yielding to the pressure she put on them. 

It made pleasure spark in the hollow of her stomach, warming her chest and speeding up her pulse, how deeply she affected him, even doing something so innocuous. 

Her, the only daughter of his handler, of Rebecca Whichlow, Wayhaven’s only detective, prim and tailored and rigid — words that had always been used against her, but words that Agent Sewell had made feel like worship, as though Serena was Helen in the ashes of Troy, burning so brightly she had changed the course of history. A celestial object. A comet of a woman. 

Prim and tailored and rigid and untouchable for all but one man.

He didn’t make her feel lucky. 

He made her feel as though he was the lucky one, and he was so wholly aware of it, kissing her palms with reverence, praying to the curves of her hips and making his offerings to the altar between her legs, anointed by the arousal dripping from her lips.

Slowly, with great effort, Nate’s hand rose again, the book of verses coming with it, and he resumed reading in a voice that was so thick Serena could taste each syllable as she slipped her hands down his waistband, reined in by the leather belt whose bite she had tasted before, tied around her forearms and pinning them behind her back as he took her against a window.

The poetry in a language she only partly understood, and even less so when he was spread before her like that, became a slur as she grazed his cock.

It would be her mouth on him next. The vampire always yielded to her mouth, and when he yielded, she won, the taste of her victory on her tongue like the salt-burst of his come, pearl white staining the dark pink of the inside of her mouth, his climax as pretty as a flower coming to bloom.

“Good boy.” Serena’s own voice was becoming a purr. “You’re doing so well. Maybe you’ll finish this time.” 

“You’ll be the death of me, jaanam,” he groaned, abandoning the verse again, his hips rising as she flexed her fingers beneath the fabric and the tips of her fingers brushed against the vein that rose up the side of his length. 

“I like your moans almost as much as I like your reading voice,” she said, a delicate smile curving her lips, the innocence in her tone entirely manufactured. She punctuated her statement by stepping back from the chaise and her position over him, lowering to her knees before him in an imitation of subservience, looking at his lap as he shifted, making little attempt to hide his growing arousal. He was big and his cock was difficult to hide. He always filled her so completely.

“Let death take me,” Nate said fiercely, resigning himself to his fate, and she heard the book hit something hard, wood, a shelf, the ground, and didn’t see it again. 

Serena adored the taste of him.

His thighs, first, soft-skinned and lush brown, darkening briefly in the places where she sucked at them, saliva shining on them beneath the artificial lights. Their insides, softer still, making him pant harder, reaching for the back of her head and shaking under her. And his cock, erect and smooth as the velvet he was barely perched on the edge of, the tip of it between her parted lips as she looked up at him through her lashes. 

He moaned, the sound unabashed and echoing, the risk of getting caught in this salacious, scandalous position making something thrilling burn hot in her veins. 

Her arousal had dried down, no longer wet on his mouth and cheeks, but he still smelled of her, his opposite thigh ever so slightly damp where she had pressed her cunt to it and rode the flexed muscle while he tried to read the first time and she had come for the second, leaving a dark spot on the fabric of his pants. Her panties, flimsy, cheap lace, had long been thrown away somewhere, like the book. Actually. She might not have been wearing any, anticipating this moment. 

She liked leaving subtle remnants of herself on him to clean up later. 

His hair sticking up where she’d tugged at it. His stubble leaving her chin red when they kissed. Her come on his lips. The hazy look in his eyes after she brought him to the edge and then took him entirely over it. They were all she had. He healed too quickly for the rest.

They could wash their faces and straighten their clothes and find everything they’d discarded and shift her love-bites beneath sleeves and skirts and bra straps, and look as though nothing unextraordinary had occurred, but Serena would know, and Nate would know. She always went back to her empty apartment with her head occupied entirely by his honey, her body aching for the feeling of fullness only he gave her.

She lifted her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, the effort futile. 

Nate’s eyes were closed, his pulse pounding through him when she touched his legs, stroking the shaft of his wet cock, pressing the outside of her cheek to it and soaking in the obscene warmth of him. 

“Come here, Detective,” the vampire said throatily, opening his eyes again and gazing down at her, “Let me finish for you.”

Her body might have been made for his. The indentations left on her were fitted to his fingers. The curves of her neatly slotted into his grasp. She fit perfectly with him, straddling his waist and sinking down onto his cock with her skirt bunched into strange pleats at her waist, Nate’s arms wrapped so tightly around her that for a moment she found it hard to breathe, feeling only the jolt of his cock thrusting deeper into her, his hand slipping between them and his thumb drawing over the bud of her clit, stroking it with an insistence that made her gasp.

Serena threw her head back, pleasure building, tremors overtaking her, and her back found the velvet of the chaise again as he took his place on top of her and she could see his pretty face in shadow, looking down on her, warming her not unlike the sun.

She didn’t hear the word he said to her shoulder clearly enough, his teeth grazing it as he came, more marks on her left by him, more of her marks on him as she followed him towards ecstasy, but it sounded something like “love.” 

When she opened her mouth, to answer him, there was only a moan waiting.

“Nate,” she breathed, “Don’t stop now.”

Love would have to be dealt with later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this post](https://twc-thoughts-you-didnt-ask-for.tumblr.com/post/630731215865069569/okay-not-to-keep-being-nsfw-on-main-but-you-know) on Tumblr. Something quick for the first day of Kinktober.

Nate was both the ice melting in her open mouth, her tongue curled around the smooth shape of it, frigid water dripping down her chin, and the flames that flickered in her periphery, a fire starter of a man, eyes shining black as he watched her come closer in the candlelight. The heat required to make that which was solid, like ice, or _her_ , liquid, and the cold that made her shiver, goosebumps erupting on her bare skin. 

Serena had known men like him before, sharp contrasts and smooth features, too many things at once. He had lived too many lives. 

But this one, this one belonged to her and her alone. 

She had given him scratches down his back that healed faster than the flashes of lightning they were shaped like, and love bites on his shoulders, the marks made by her teeth swelling and disappearing again no matter how many times she remade them, and bruises on his thighs that flashed from shades of dark red to violet and green and then couldn’t be seen at all in the space of a few minutes. She had become accustomed to being a secret, just her perfume on his skin, or his hair tousled where she had grabbed it, but he held her to his naked chest and murmured that she was the only taste in his mouth anymore, remaining with him even long after the ephemeral marks on his skin had faded.

She knew she possessed all of his attention, that he couldn’t think of anything else with her close to him. 

And Serena had yielded to him, ceding control, breathing at a fast pace as he had taken to the buttons of her blouse with his teeth, stripping her down to the blush-coloured underwear she wore only because he might see it. 

Another pair of stockings ruined by him. More nylon torn. 

Nate hadn’t needed to hold her jaw open as he fed her the ice, she would have done it anyway without him. But the way he touched her face, cupping her cheeks, both delicate and insistent, as though he assumed he would break her if he pressed any harder but breaking her was what he wanted, betrayed a hesitance and repression that must have been bred into him centuries ago and made her pulse quicken. 

A few strands of Serena’s hair were wrapped loosely around his fingers, and his hands moved with purpose, following the shape of her cheekbones, thumb running across her slick bottom lip and then bringing it to his own mouth. 

His eyes were half-closed in an expression she recognized as something like ecstasy, the face he made when she kissed him and she could see him as she did it. A face like drinking wine and flushing as an aftermath, or a dance with two hot bodies pressed close together, or like falling asleep in the crook of someone’s arm. Rapture and reverence, a religion they were the only two practitioners of.

She swallowed the water that remained from the cube in her mouth, reaching out towards him, pressing her palm to his chest, slick with sweat. 

A slow descent, to match the melted ice, until she was between his parted thighs and Nate was throwing his head back and thrashing against the bed. Her cold mouth made its way across one of his legs, towards the inside, lips brushing over the bare skin there. She had set a languid, torturous pace, and the vampire was beginning to make his sweet sounds, moans and ancient words in languages he had yet to teach her, reaching for her hair again, pressing her head closer to his cock. 

Serena drew her tongue around the head of it, sucking on the tip, and his hips bucked, his fist pulling at the locks tangled in it. 

“Darling,” he breathed, and the simplicity and sweet innocence of his praise made her flush with pleasure, body burning as she brushed against thighs again, wrapping her hand around the base of his cock and licking along the length of it, cheeks hollowing as she swallowed around him and looked up at him through her lashes. “Jaan e jaanaa.” 

Nate was shivering. 

Her opposite hand slipped between her legs, stroking her cunt as he became louder, drawing her fingers through her folds, arousal collecting on the tips of her fingers. He would want to taste her. 

“More?” Serena asked as she pulled back, throat burning from the size of him, quieter and rasping from taking him inside of her mouth. He groaned at the loss of contact, cupping the back of her head, and her nose brushed against the head of his cock, wet from her. She could soak in the scent of his skin. She would smell like slow sex and Nate forever. 

“Come here. Lay down. Let me show you how it feels.” His voice was deeper, and her hand stilled on her cunt, want burning in the hollow of her belly, a fire building inside of her.

The first brush of the ice against her limbs made her shake, laid out for him, left at his mercy as he took his place above her, hips over hers, length thrusting against her slick folds as he leaned down and she contemplated begging him to put his cock inside of her as he ran the cube down her body, fucking up into her and melting it between both of their bodies.

They had made worse messes.

“Nate,” she panted, twisting beneath him, “Please, please, I want to feel you. I can’t wait any longer. Please.”

She had lost the ability to make entire sentences as he took the ice in his mouth and lowered his head to her chest, pulling aside the thin mesh of her bra and flicking his tongue against her breast, round nipples pebbling from the cold of him. 

“Did I do that to you, pyaar?” Nate murmured, lifting his head again before sucking a bruise into the side of her breast, making her cry out from the sting of it and the cool of his mouth and the heat of him — it felt as though all of her nerves were alight at once, firing as he moved down her body to her stomach and she could no longer feel his cock but his lips were on her and she was singing.

“Nate,” Serena begged, hips rising off the bed. His head was between her thighs, held there was she closed them and the ice water dripped from his mouth down her cunt, the cold plunge of his tongue inside of her making her gasp and thrash again. 

He held her down. He always held her down.

“Nate, I’m going to come. Oh my god, Nate, Nate. Nate.” 

“Come for me, darling.”

She felt his mouth curve into a freezing grin, and reflexively, she reached for the back of his head, pulling at the hair there and making him hiss for a half second before the pleasure he had coaxed from her became a wave of black and it felt like she was disconnected from her body, floating, dizzy. 

“I love you,” she gasped, coming back to him, head thrown back against the mattress, “Fuck, Nate.” 

He nuzzled her hips, gentle, a soft smile making his eyes glow. “Do you want to try the candles still?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I post anonymously because I am shy about writing smut, so receiving encouragement in the form of comments/kudos really makes my day.


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